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muzanswaifu · 1 year

Text

Bittersweet

Demon! Sanemi x Fem! Reader

18+

Request: "I have been waiting to read something like this for so long. Demon Sanemi craving blood because fem!reader is on her period, so yk he eats her out without mercy❤️"

Demon Sanemi is so mean I love hiiiim :3 Need me a man who would eat me out on my period 😒 Jk jk that shit gotta taste nastyyyyyyy

NSFW Warnings: Yandere, Non-con, Smut, Sexism, Kidnapping, Forced Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Menstruation, Blood Kink, Forced Orgasm, Kinda Gross ngl

The rhythmic pitter-patter of feet echoes through the green, a slow churn of water thrumming with the flow of the current. Even the thick noise of crickets and wind couldn't drown out the hint of life found deep in the brush, the figurative curl of a finger beaconing him to draw closer, to close the union of rarity.

He took a breath. A deep one. Taking in the pungent scent of weak males. And a female.

Shinazugawa could nearly taste the delectable meat already, the flavor settling on his tongue and seducing his taste buds. Drool nearly threatened his mouth, but he withheld himself. He wasn't an animal. Not technically, anyway.

But he might as well be. Only an animal could hunt as he did, track as he did, kill as he did. But a beast was not nearly as precise as he was, not leaving even a scrap of evidence in his wake. Only the crime scene would be found, a gorey scene of bone and torn flesh, remnants of his well-earned meal. But only the males would wither...

As for the female -

Oh gods, did just the thought of it make him salivate, his very bones trembling with need. Her scent alone made him feel weak with hunger, his tongue curling with horrid intent. The fragrance was familiar to him, a vague memory of his past existence of rare blood, the same unique trait only serving as a grand pillar toward his success as a demon. Her blood ran the same, her veins full of the powerful elixir that his kind would quite literally kill each other for. But he had no need for such rivalry.

The path the cattle strode upon was a hidden one, veiled by a plentiful layer of wisteria about fifty feet aways on either side of the trail. The effort wasn’t so useless, he supposed. Perhaps it served useful against weaker demons of no rank, the fiends not yet powerful enough to develop some resistance to it. But his godly build was stronger, the frail flower only giving his skin a lingering sting. His hunger far outweighed it.

He had long stalked his prize. The demon had patience in these rare situations, biding his time for the perfect opportunity to make his efforts all the more worth it. It had been several moons ago that he’d first stumbled upon her delivery across these lands, his keen eye catching the lingering dust kicked up by the horses that pulled her carriage. Even back then, the chance had been perfect. The men were unknowing, all walls of defense down as the car came to a halt, surely one of exhaustion. Shinazugawa drew closer, only a breath away from finally feasting when his vision was obscured by a heavenly vision.

A small thing she was, her skirts nearly catching under her feet as she gracefully stepped down from her traveling abode. The moonlight shimmered brilliantly off her glazed skin as she bent her delicate neck back, stretching out the aching tightness trapped there. Her (h/c) hair was frizzy across the outline, the static from the summer heat pulling at the threads and giving them a coiled curl. His maw fell open with his amazement.

He’d come across several humans of marechi blood in his infinite lifetime, and most, if not all, were nothing much to look at, quite ugly in his opinion. They all bore the same simplicity and naïveté, their only unique trait being their delectable composition that gave them their sole purpose of feasting. But she was so drastically different.

Everything about this female sang rarity, her natural features reminiscent of that of ancient goddesses that mortal men could only wish to touch. But here she was. Within an arm’s reach, he could have her, do with her what he wished. He was nearly disgusted with himself, being far more captivated with his food than he should’ve been. Sparing her of death would’ve been such a waste of opportunity, one that even those lower than him wouldn’t have been so idiotic as to squander. Yet, his own self-doubt swallowed him as he drew back into the dark wood, letting her little toy soldiers bring her back to the safety of the nearing daylight.

He’d gorged himself after that, consuming soul after soul at a nearby village in an attempt to quench his own frustration and need. There weren’t many options to consider. He couldn’t spare the thing entirely, he wasn’t that fucking stupid, but he didn’t very much want her dead either. Turning her definitely wasn’t an option, women just didn’t have as much potential as demons, and he had his own personal beliefs that women shouldn’t dirty their hands. But dear gods, her scent, her smell alone probably called upon hundreds of demons to her location daily, perhaps it would’ve been a mercy to take the female’s life.

Fuck.

He hated himself for how indecisive he was. Not once in his entire demonhood had he been at such a crossroad of hesitance. There had to be another option that held the best of both worlds, yes? Shinazugawa just hadn’t come across it yet.

But fate gave him a hint as he snatched up the severed half of a female he’d killed, her guts spilling into his lap as he gnawed on her fat ankle. His daggered eyes trailed up her cold thigh, lining the dark trail of blood that seeped from under her skirt. A small confusion fell over him as he mulled over the strange placement. His blade’s cut through her navel had been clean, her blood pooling into the muddy grass and not at all staining much of her clothing. Yet the chain of red kept its existence, running into the conjunction of her thighs. Cursing his own curiosity, Sanemi swept the pesky material aside, only to be met with the brilliance of a cruel idea.

It hadn’t been hard at all to follow along the woman’s usual route of travel again, her men taking the same path, ignorant of its dangerous discovery. Yet the timing was unfortunately off, her smell still sickeningly sweet and clean rather than bitter and dirty. He’d have to wait for next time. And the next. And the next. He’d nearly given up hope entirely until the fated night his lungs were filled with the metallic scent that had his belly tensing with primal famine. Just the mere aroma of ichor had drool gathering in his jowls, his fists clenching with need. It only grew thicker as her quaint carriage drew near, the clicking wheels singing a dreadful tune with each snap against the road. Sanemi could already taste the woman on his tongue, her savory flesh plump and tender between his teeth… god, he was going to lose it.

He nearly did as she stepped from her carriage in the same manner as their first meeting, her hair knit in tight braids across her crown, framing her delicate features. She was dressed more eloquently this time, Her gown long and loose yet hugging her figure with a gentle tightness. He mused to himself that perhaps she was on her way to some formal event to maintain appearances, maybe even earn herself a husband. Yet the notion of such a possibility irked him all the same. He’d never felt a hunger like this before, if one could even call it that. This felt so much more significant, crucial even, as if his very life depended on it. And maybe it did, since he would most definitely not let himself live if he couldn’t get even a single taste of her blood. Her body was his to take.

It took him no time at all to do away with the weaklings, the men’s bodies falling one after the other into the gravel, making a sad splash as their vitals funneled out. The man ogling at her backside was the first to go, his head severed the instant his eyeline met the wide curve of her dress, dropping to the ground with a thud and rolling to a leisure stop to her heel. When the woman finally turned from her distraction of the ominous wood, she was met with pure, bloody isolation.

Her horrified scream echoed loud, her hands clawing at her own face as she looked upon the gory scene of blood and guts that surrounded her. Shinazugawa was almost impressed at her reaction speed as she quickly turned foot and bolted, running through the thick bush despite her frailty. He couldn’t help but snicker, so enamored by her utter foolishness of trying to escape. If the men protecting her couldn’t even survive, what made her think she was the exception?

“God, you’re fucking stupid, ha!” he cackled, leaping about the tree-line, nipping at her backside but giving her just the right amount of space to let her hope she could get away.

She was not at all athletic, her stamina quickly dwindling as her frail figure fought with itself to continue on. Her chest burned, her feet hurt, her will to keep moving dwindling by the second and feeding into the persuasive idea of giving up. Yet the monster snatched her before she could choose, slamming her into the soft, melted ground and caking her elegance in earth. His hand wrapped around her pretty neck firmly, another snaking down her bodice and tearing open the gold buttons of her dress. His tongue swept across his lip as he unwrapped her, taking his sweet time to unveil every inch of her pristine flesh to his ravenous eye, her little fists pounding at his chest as she sobbed and screamed for help.

“Shut it,” Sanemi growled lowly, surprised to see her actually listen, her lip wobbling and eyes flooding as she silenced herself. He could still hear her pathetic whimpers as he stripped her, her small frame shaking as he brushed down her stomach, removing the lacy undergarments that hid her delicate body from his sight. He could see her plush intimacy coming into view from beneath her coverings, her curved hips thickening her figure, her thighs trembling as they tried desperately to hide themselves. But there was nothing that could be done about that now as she lied there, helpless, powerless, weak.

He opened his mouth wide, exposing sharp canines and letting his hot breath wash over her firm abdomen as her tears began anew and wept down her flushed cheeks. The demon was pleased, relishing in her surrender and submission as he gently ran his tongue down her navel, sampling his meal and savoring the girl's pitiful sobs. He loved it when humans cried, when they begged and pleaded for their lives like the weaklings they were, it made things so much more exciting.

His tongue flicked out over her pelvis, gliding over the pudge over her sex as he breathed in the scent of her musk, tainted with ovulation. Sanemi could already feel the saliva gathering in a jowls as he began to peel down her underwear, a cotton cloth clinging to the crotch of it. Her breath stuttered.

"N-no, no, please! Please... please!" she cried out, shaking hard and grasping at her own face, nearly clawing her eyes out with panic. But she knew better than to try to fight him off again, clearly more afraid of what he would do then than what he was currently doing. He couldn't help but grin against her supple flesh, his edged teeth nicking her thigh. She jerked at the sudden pain and the warm sensation of blood trickling down her leg, soaking into the dirt.

"P-Please, p-p-please don't... h-hurt me," her words shook with her exterior, her sniffling likely a strong persuasion to those who had a heart. He obviously didn't but was still bothered by her pestering fear of being eaten. "If I was going to eat you, don't you think I would have done it already?" he groaned sarcastically.. The human slowly removed her fingers to peak down at him, her eyes red and welled with tears, lip trembling. He laughed.

"I mean come on, you think I'd let you bitch and moan this long just to kill you later? If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Quit fucking crying," he hissed.

She sniffled again. "B-but -"

"Zip it."

Her mouth snapped shut, quickly obeying before her brain could even comprehend him.

Sanemi growled. "Talk again and you get to join those fuckers back there." He nodded his head back to the direction of her abandoned carriage and dead guards. His claws dug into her thighs, pulling them to spread wider to encompass his presence. "The sooner you let me take what I want, the sooner I let you go. But I don't deal with brats. You either listen or you don't, 's up to you bitch."

He wasn't sure how he expected her to react, but it definitely wasn't for her to spread herself wider, without any instruction. It was almost touching how quickly she gave in, not even needing a moment to think it over before she opened herself up for him to do as he pleased. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she were eager for it.

His head fell down to her core again, his fangs pricking the surface of her skin yet again, drawing forth a shallow line of blood as he slid them down her inner thighs, his eyes locked on her frightened yet curious gaze. She shivered at the sharpness of his touch, her legs trembling as he moved further south, trying to appease his hungered excitement. He resumed pulling down her panties, reveling in the aroma of moon blood that filled his senses as he took away all obstruction. It was beautiful. The smell of blood. The sight of red dripping from her puffy lips. He could only imagine the taste, so eager in his imagination of its excellence. He'd never tasted pure ovulation blood before, never even thought of it actually. It would be stupid to use just his tongue when he could devour with his teeth in an instant and move on to the next meal. But this was a different situation entirely. This woman could satiate him for years, decades even, with marechi blood. It didn't hurt that she was a hot piece of ass either. If he didn't get himself together soon, he might end up fucking his food as well.

The woman's eyes lingered on his leisure movements, the drawl of his dangerous eyes along her sex as he studied the meal. Embarrassment quickly rose in her chest as she realized his intentions, praying that he’d move on with whatever he was trying to do so her dignity could recover. Although, she supposed letting him taste her menstrual blood was better than getting eaten alive... but hardly.

The demon felt her pulse quicken in his grasp, her breathing growing faster and her patience dwindling as she began to quiver again. He didn't blame her though, not in the slightest. But he had every right to such a rare female, he deserved everything. And if the needs of others were sacrificed, so be it. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist her for too long. He was ravenous.

And he was horny.

He smiled as his head dipped down, his tongue flicking out to smooth against her swollen clitoris, barely brushing the top as he inhaled the fragrance of her blood. Her legs trembled, her muscles tensing as her hips buckled in response, shocked with the sudden feeling of sensitivity. She had to bite her lip to silence her noise of surprise. He chuckled as he teased her, dragging his tongue from one side to the other, teasing her wet folds and leaving behind a thin trail of saliva. He didn't really care for her pleasure at the moment, but he was curious of her response to it. Dinner and a show. That was fine by him.

She bit her lip harder, her thighs flexing to keep from touching him. Sanemi was excited at her reaction, watching her face contort with each and every careless stroke of his tongue, her hips subconsciously rising to feed herself into his awaiting mouth. A few times, she almost grabbed for him, but her arms were still pinned to her side by her own strong will to survive. He liked that, enjoyed her struggle as he continued to lick her up and down, her clit becoming more sensitive with each and every pass. Her blood was intoxicating, his head already growing dizzy as he drank her from the source. He thought it would be difficult to keep himself from biting down but the thought never even grazed his mind as he continued giving sloppy licks and sucks to her weeping heat. She was so tasty, so sweet, so ripe. It seemed like she would never stop bleeding as his tongue was eternally blessed with a fresh coat of red. He wondered for a moment if it was possible to drain her of it all in one night.

He growled, his head lowering down to her opening and his tongue falling out again as she whimpered in anticipation, eyes closed tight. She felt like she was losing her mind with every pass of his ravenous tongue. Her head was so foggy and light, her pussy so warm, she couldn't stop herself from letting out small noises of pleasure as he kept feasting upon her. It took every ounce of her being not to wrap her legs around his head and trap him into her center, forcing him to cease his cruel teasings. What little was left of her fear only heightened the experience, giving her a blissful taste of sin that she'd never indulged before, the sense of danger giving her such a rush.

Her ichor only grew sweeter on his tongue by the second, her slick diluting her blood in heavier batches that gave him more a taste of lust than power. He focused on her hole then, realizing that nipping at her clit certainly wasn't helping the situation. Yet, her pleasure rose none-the-less. His tongue worked hard, dashing inside of her, licking up every drop of liquor, drinking it down as if it were a fine wine. It was nearly too good to be true, this level of strength he felt. He looked down at the girl, his eyes burning into her as he watched her squirm and grip the earth. She was so delicious.

But he needed more.

His tongue pumped into her again and again, dipping as far as it could reach before retreating to her entrance to lick up anything that had escaped him. She shuddered, her hips subtly grinding on his face to chase her nearing end. It continued building in her belly, sending bolts of electricity up her spine and warming her insides. She couldn't even feel the pain of her cramps anymore.

Sanemi sipped at her wetness more vigorously, his tongue lapping at her like a dog, desperate for more of his meal. He slowed only for a moment as the woman gave a small cry, her hips and thighs quaking harshly and tensing in his palms. He wasn't even angry when her juices sprayed him, drenching his lower face and dripping down his lips. If anything he was amused, only a human could come from such little care. Yet, he stopped, her cunt hardly even bleeding anymore being so wet with arousal and relief. What was the point of pleasing her when he gained nothing in return.

He rose from his position on the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as his eyes raked down her sloppy appearance, certainly not that of a noblewoman. Her backside was caked with mud, her hair messy and matted, her face red and mouth leaking with drool. She nearly looked peaceful as she let out gentle pants, still softly shaking from such a strong orgasm. He rolled his eyes.

"Get up," he commanded, uncaring of her condition. "I don't have all fucking night."

The woman only rose when his growls became violent, her movements awkward and her head still in the clouds. She still attempted to cover herself, tucking an arm over her breasts and cupping her sex with another.

"I'm only going to explain this once so I suggest you pay attention-" he began, her eyes quickly lighting up with fright, "You are going to come back to this path every month during your menses. You will come alone. No guards. No friends. No nobody. Understand?"

She squirmed nervously in her footing, her fear beginning to crest again. "B-but I-I won’t be a-allowed to travel for n-no r-r-reason..." she stuttered.

"Not my problem."

"A-and how would I come back without anyone to take-"

"Not. My. Problem." he hissed meanly, making her cower away.

He stepped forward to her, towering over her little form. "I'm not here to negotiate. I'm just telling you what you're going to do. I don't give a fuck how you're gonna do it, but if you know what's good for you, you'll obey. You want anyone else dead because of you?" he sneered.

Her lip quivered and tears glazed in her eyes. "N-no."

Sanemi chuckled, looking down at her and pressing a strong hand over her lower belly and brushing away her small hands, dangerously close to her privates that were still glazed with his saliva.

"This is mine," he stated, passing two fingers between her puffy cunt lips, "Give it to anyone else and I'll kill them and make you watch. I'll make it slow too. You want that?" She violently shook her head, nearly on the cusp of pissing herself from the terror of such a suggestion.

He hummed with his approval of her response, giving her another once over with his eyes and a quick squeeze of her breast before backing away into the night, undisturbed with how on earth she was going to get back home. It would've been any second that he could lose control of himself and pounce, a desperate need growing in pants to satiate himself. He'd have to establish that as another rule - no fucking when she was edible. Maybe he'd pay her another visit later when her period was over, at her estate perhaps, just to take away her innocence and test out how useful she was to him. He could only imagine how pathetic she would look speared on his cock with nowhere else to go, but that would be for another night, he couldn't forget her main purpose.

And he couldn't wait to get a taste of that again.

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2qties · 2 months

Text

𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙑𝙀𝙉𝙇𝙔 𝙈𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 , 𝘿𝙀𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙄𝘾 𝙎𝙊𝙉

⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐

This is simply a drabble that came to mind around two months ago. I'm unsure if I will continue it. Sorry for the post delay , Tumblr was acting up - 🪐

TW: not my usual writing style as it is from a bit ago 🫶🏾 it's an oc but you can imagine yourself as her 🫶🏾

⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐

chapter one : family reunion .

In the pulsating core of the dynamic urban landscape, where the resplendent lights of the red-light district cast an almost supernatural radiance, Muzan Kibutsuji, the Sovereign of Demons, advanced with discreet deliberation. Veiled amidst the intricate fabric of human society, he sought a strategic moment to exploit the captivating guise of a demonic oiran—a skillful agent adept at navigating the shadows while accruing wealth to clandestinely further the ominous cause of seamlessly blending into the populous tapestry.

The sumptuous passageways of the oiran district extended a beckoning invitation, embellished with intricate lanterns that swayed gracefully, diffusing a subdued luminosity upon the walls tinged in crimson hues. Muzan, the paragon of refinement and composure, ambulated through the convoluted maze of corridors with an aura of nonchalant detachment.

The courtesans adorning the promenades, their gaze ablaze with alluring intent, endeavored to ensnare his attention, each one vying for the elusive favor of the enigmatic visitor. However, Muzan's impassive stare persisted, impervious to their seductive overtures, his concentration unwaveringly anchored to a matter of greater urgency.

His heightened senses, finely tuned to the intricate tapestry of fragrances wafting through the air, steered him unerringly towards a specific chamber. The lingering scent within was unmistakable—a fusion of familiarity and foreboding, an olfactory composition that surreptitiously divulged intimations of consanguinity. With each step toward the appointed room, the ambiance thickened, saturated with an unsettling energy, the redolence intensifying in both potency and disquietude.

Before he could traverse the threshold, a courtesan, bedecked in resplendent silk and adorned with meticulously painted patterns, glided towards him with a captivating grace. "Honored guest," she purred, her eyes shimmering akin to pools of liquid chocolate, "Why don't you come visit me in my quarters? I can make it worth your while." Her voice, suffused with seductive mellifluousness, endeavored to enthrall his attention.

Muzan summarily dismissed her with a mere glance, his attention resolute and unwavering. "Your trivial offerings hold no allure for me. Step aside," he commanded, his voice resonating with the gravitas of a myriad shadows.

The courtesan recoiled, her façade momentarily shattered by the callous indifference she encountered. Scowling with vexation, she found herself disconcerted by the rejection, her aspirations of financial gain seemingly thwarted by the man who spurned her allure. As she cast a furtive glance back at him, her eyes widened, and she gasped at the unfolding scene.

"B-but, sir," she stammered, panic flickering in her eyes, "you must not enter that room! The oiran residing within does not take kindly to unannounced patrons. Her presence is not to be trifled with. She—she's unhinged!"

Muzan, the embodiment of arrogance, summarily dismissed her words with a disdainful wave of his hand and smoothly slid open both shoji doors. The room unveiled beyond was immersed in an unsettling quietude, a conspicuous divergence from the tumultuous noise resonating from the surroundings.

Shattered glass and strewn fragments of various objects adorned the space, forming a chaotic tapestry that laid bare the unbridled disposition of its inhabitant. Surveying the disarray, Muzan arched an eyebrow, seemingly comprehending the courtesan's forewarning about the oiran's unstable nature. However, his countenance remained unruffled, displaying an unaffected demeanor.

As Muzan attentively surveyed the disarray, the door swung closed behind him, enclosing him within the mysterious chamber's confines. The atmosphere burgeoned with an oppressive energy, and the previously discernible scent that had served as his guide now intensified, enveloping him more potently. The fragrance became increasingly robust, and from the opposite side of the sealed door, the muffled sounds of courtesans scrambling, squirming, and hastily retreating permeated the air, leaving an uneasy anticipation lingering in its wake.

Suddenly, he felt it—a presence looming directly behind him, and a familiar awareness washed over him like a chilling realization. The veins on his forehead and forearms pulsated, agitated in a luminous display of mounting rage, for he unequivocally recognized the identity of the entity now in close proximity.

"Angry, are we?" The figure positioned behind him taunted, a mocking chuckle escaping at the expense of Muzan's seething fury. Muzan maintained a stoic silence, refraining from uttering a single word. The presence continued its taunts with a sardonic tone, "You remain a disobedient one after all these years, persistently deaf to warnings Didn't that charming girl tell you to leave this room alone?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Muzan fixed his gaze upon the imposing figure that towered above him, draped in silken garments that appeared to waltz with the shadows—predominantly ruby and obsidian black. The woman's countenance remained enshrouded behind an elaborate mask, an intricate veil of darkness that concealed the true essence of her being, until she took another deliberate step closer to him

As the lone light source in the room faintly illuminated her face, he locked eyes with her, scrutinizing her long black hair, eyes tinted a plum-red, pupils resembling the slits of a feline, and an aura of malevolence that matched the ominous reputation that preceded her. The woman, whose malevolence surpassed even his own, stood in his presence, a twisted smile playing upon her lips.

The malevolent curve of her smile metamorphosed into a saccharine expression as she enveloped him in an unexpected embrace from behind. Muzan, though internally vexed, made no attempt to resist. "Aren't you such a magnificent young man, aging handsomely, hm?" she teased with a girlish giggle, provoking a reluctant turn of his head in an enduring state of disdain, ruing the moment he stepped into her room.

In a sudden shift, she seized his chin, compelling him to meet her gaze. The ostensibly sweet smile persisted, but a belligerent glint gleamed in her eyes. "Hug me back," she demanded, her tone betraying a subtle hostility. Muzan, unyielding in his disposition, refused compliance. Unhurriedly, the tip of her thumbnail began to press into his jaw, and a sigh of frustration escaped him as he witnessed his own blood slowly seeping forth.

To mollify the woman, he begrudgingly reciprocated the embrace. In that instant, all traces of hostility evaporated from her form, replaced by jubilant giggles as she reveled in the compelled intimacy.

Relinquishing the embrace, she delicately placed her hands on Muzan's cheeks, a playful tease dancing in her eyes. "Not even going to offer a proper greeting?" she chided, to which Muzan responded with a begrudging grunt of annoyance. "Greetings," he muttered, hoping to conclude the formality swiftly. However, she refused to accept his curt acknowledgment, maintaining a radiant smile as she peered down at him.

"Naughty boy," she cooed, her tone honeyed but with a subtle undertone of authority, "always forgetting how to greet your elders. Greet me again, and this time, do it properly." She sweetly demanded, her insistence compelling Muzan to comply. Slowly withdrawing from her embrace, he took a step back and executed a half-bow. However, it wasn't to her satisfaction.

Unperturbed, she extended her hand towards his head, a gesture that forcefully guided it downwards, ensuring his bow assumed a deeper reverence. With meticulous attention to detail, she sought the utmost respect. Muzan, yielding to her unspoken demand, muttered,

"Greetings,

mother."

┌──❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚─┐

𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗢 𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗦

└───❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚┘

🕷 Muzan does not like his mother.

🕷 Muzan's mother, Akuryō Kyūsai's, name means Evil Spirit's Salvation.

🕷 Akuryō has a twisted way of loving Muzan. Like the love a mad scientist has for their creation.

#kny x reader #oc #demon slayer #muzan kibutsuji #kny muzan #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #demon slayer muzan #muzan x reader #mother reader #TJsworks🪐

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mrwinterr · 9 months

Text

Die Happy (Eddie Munson Version)

Pairing: Ghost!Eddie Munson AU x Female Reader; hint of Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Summary: You summon a really friendly ghost. 👻

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual vibes all around, masturbation, vaginal fingering, oral? [female receiving]) and language. 🚫 Minors DO NOT interact. Dabbling into the occult (use of a Ouija board).

Disclaimer: I’m a spooky bitch, but I would NEVER mess with an Ouija board. This is an AU. The upside down and the events that happen in the series Stranger Things (2016) aren’t entirely canon here.

Title Inspiration: “Die Happy” by Dreamers

A/N: This is a re-imagine of my Ghost!Bucky Barnes AU from years ago, but I wanted to convert it to fit with our dear boy Eddie. It’s only altered to fit a different narrative, but the smut is still closely the same. The inspiration came from an erotic audio on Reddit, so I owe it to that. There was a part two in the works, so if this goes well, I’ll continue writing it for this AU. Enjoy!

You sat there on your small couch of the trailer you had just moved into about six months ago, staring at the unopened brown rectangular box placed on your coffee table, contemplating on unboxing it. A part of you was scared to touch it again because of its contents and the other part was bullying you to just rip it open and get this over with. This was your idea after all. This was your last resort. This was the package that would, hopefully, help you find the answers you were so desperately looking for.

What exactly were you trying to solve?

Six months prior, you’d managed to save up enough money to move out of your parents’ home, away from a superficial city and into a small, quiet town. Albeit a trailer wasn’t your first option, it was something you could call your own. It was the most adult thing you’ve done in your life so far. Initially, you were excited because you would be able to decorate it the way you wanted for every holiday, host small gatherings with friends and maybe even bring someone home. However, you couldn’t exactly do most of that, not with all the strange things that have been happening and while you attempted to brush them off as mere coincidences, they were becoming almost too outstanding to ignore any longer.

First, it was the air conditioning unit acting wonky. You kept the place at a reasonable and comfortable temperature, but you found yourself often sporting hoodies or wrapped up in blankets. Never mind the breeze that blew past you here and there, the technicians couldn’t find a single problem with the system and besides whenever you scheduled a visit for inspection, it was magically working just fine.

Next, much like the AC unit, the electricity started to have a mind of its own. Before you could flip the light switch or press the button on your remote, it was always one step ahead of you. It was almost like you were living in a smart house, but instead of acting on voice command, it read your mind.

The most bizarre thing though, was things disappearing and reappearing. Small things like the morning paper would vanish from where you left it and if you couldn’t locate where you last left your keys, you never had to search too far because there they were. Maybe it was all in your head?

The eeriest one of them all was the unexplained smell. There was a distinct yet alluring scent that would trail behind when you felt that breeze pass over. You couldn’t pinpoint what it exactly smelled like, a composition of something woody with amber undertones that suggested a sense of strength and warmth from its presence. One thing was for sure, it wasn’t any like your fragrances nor was it from the only person that visited you. It was a pleasant odor and almost a calming one to you.

You didn’t want to believe it, but these weren’t just common occurrences - these were tall tale signs of a haunting. You came to the conclusion you were living with a ghost. The spirit wasn’t vengeful, that much you gathered since it didn’t make attempts to harm you in any way. If anything, it helped you out more than bothered you. Sure you could just either ignore these oddities or move out, but you’d worked too hard to get here and you weren’t going to let whatever entity run you out of your new home. Instead, curiosity won the best of you and you opted to take matters into your own hands.

Literally.

Pulling the Ouija board out from the box, you place it on the table and it seems to have a hold on you. How do you prepare yourself to summon a ghost? You don’t know how long you’d been staring but it was only when the sudden knock on your door does the spell break.

You get up and make the short distance to the front door and you’re briefly greeted by your close friend Steve. Your relationship with him was close to the point where you’re not even bothered that he just makes his way inside as if he lived here with you. He’s so busy rambling about something, probably about his latest shift at the video store he worked at, that he didn’t notice how uncharacteristically quiet you were being.

“Whoa!” He exclaims, stopping in his tracks once he sees the Ouija board laid out. Its presence was enough to effectively cut his story short. “What are you doing with that?” He asks, pointing at the object and taking a few steps away from it.

You roll your eyes, sitting back down and reaching into the box to pull out the remaining piece, the planchette.

“What does it look like I’m going to do with it?” You say, staring up at him blankly.

“Shit,” he starts, running his hands through his thick hair, “okay, uh, I knew you liked Halloween, but I didn’t think you were this spooky,” he says, his eyes bugging out in disbelief.

He stands in place as if the items in front of you were cursed, but seeing that you hadn’t actually begun anything yet, there’s a bit of relief. You’re not deterred by the Ouija board at all. It had quite the opposite effect because you were all too fascinated with the supernatural. It was just wild that it was happening to you.

“You really shouldn’t mess with that kind of stuff,” Steve warns as he cautiously makes his way back closer.

“I don’t know why you’re so scared,” you respond, blowing him off and kicking the now empty box aside.

“And you’re not?!” He says incredulously, “trying to speak to the dead is not right!”

Well, it certainly wasn’t normal, but so weren’t the things that were happening in your home lately.

“I need to find answers, Steve!” You bite back, the volume of your voice matching his, if not, louder. Your once calm demeanor switching to an intense one, cutting the tension of what you were going to partake in had brought about. You didn’t miss the hint his exclamations gave off and it bothered you. “What do you expect me to do? Continue living like this? I’m not in control of my own place.”

Oh yeah, he knew. Steve was the only friend you could confine in and the one person you could share your stories about your home and the experiences in it.

“You really think this place is haunted.” It comes off as more of a statement because he can see you’ve clearly made up your mind on how you’re going to prove this theory. He could see the inner turmoil you were facing and the vulnerability that cracked through your exterior after your outburst.

“I’m not going crazy! And I certainly am not going to spend another fee on having a technician tell me there’s nothing wrong with the units again.” If the frustration wasn’t visible in your features, it definitely was in your voice.

“Look,” Steve says, voice now careful, ”why don’t you just come spend the night at my place and we can think of another way to approach this?” You knew this offer all too well. It had always been on the table. When you decided to move to Hawkins and were looking for your own place, Steve had offered you a room, but you were hellbent on making it on your own. You were proud and independent…and weren’t sure about taking the next step with him.

Steve was everything your past lovers weren’t and you while you both weren’t official, a couple of dates happened here and there, something was holding you back. You cherished his friendship so much and even though you'd both crossed so many lines already, a part of you feared crossing anymore would jeopardize it. Worse, what if whatever it turned out to be would just fail miserably in the end. Then where would that leave you both? He made it clear how he felt about you, but you brushed it off casually each time. Steve knew you simply weren’t ready and he was willing to wait.

“Thanks, but I’ll be okay.” You reply, breaking away from seeing the look of concern on his face, the kind that made you feel guilty, and went back to fidgeting with the planchette in your hands. You knew he was a skeptic on these kinds of things and only worried for your safety. He’d always been protective of you and hated seeing you upset.

The nights he had spent in your trailer nothing strange ever happened. It’s like these occurrences were only happening to you. Steve wasn’t sure if he believed in ghosts or not, but he wasn’t about to stick around and find out today like this. He knew that you could be stubborn, but there was only so much he could do to change your mind from where he stood and he just hoped he hadn’t lost you yet.

The crack of thunder in the sky, slightly rattling the trailer, indicated a storm was coming and you took that as an excuse to convince Steve to leave for the night. You didn’t want to fight with him about this. The few times you did talk about a possible haunting were just humorous conversations to Steve, but you were always being serious. It was evident that you two were not on the same page.

“You should probably start heading home before the rain comes,” you advise, standing up , walking over to the front door, hoping it’d sway him, but he knew what you were doing. Steve wasn’t mad. He knew you weren’t going to change your mind this time, but he could be patient. He was always very patient with you.

He reluctantly nods, defeated, before following your lead. “I’m coming back first thing in the morning to check if you’re still alive though,” he jokes, before pulling you in for a hug and kissing the side of your head. His words elicit a light chuckle from you, but it mostly muffled against his biceps. You bask in the warmth of his embrace for a few lingering seconds, inhaling his fresh, clean scent, one that was a complete contrast to the one you were used to smelling inside your trailer, before pulling away and playfully shoving him out the door.

As soon as his car disappears from the end of the street, you jump, head snapping at a sudden crashing sound from the kitchen area. You make your way in that direction to find the mug gifted to you, on your last birthday from Steve, shattered in pieces all over the kitchen floor. The last roar of thunder must’ve been a strong one or the elevation of the shelf had been slightly off or maybe the house just didn’t like Steve… You shook your head at that last silly thought and sighed preparing to clean up the mess.

The gloomy weather quickly casted a blanket over the once clear sky and with the sounds of the fast raindrops against the windows and pavement, the lag in thunder chasing the flashes of lightning, you didn’t waste time on the mission.

What better time than now? It set the mood. Were you scared? You weren’t sure. You were already convinced you were living with something so what could’ve been scarier than that. You didn’t ponder long enough to think about the aftermath. Was this all just a bunch of hocus pocus or pseudoscience? Would you get possessed by a demon or would they be like Casper?

Would this even work? The use of a Ouija board, especially by someone inexperienced as yourself, was highly not recommended. You’d seen The Exorcist and not to mention this kind of activity was very much frowned upon during your upbringing. If only your parents could see you now…

The spirit in your home couldn’t be that bad though, right? If they wanted to possess you, they would’ve done so by now; unless they were just waiting for an invitation. Well, there was only one way to find out.

You dimmed the lights and lit a few candles around you. Was this insulting? There wasn’t exactly a guide on etiquette for communicating with the dead. You did your fair share of research, but most of what you knew about Ouija boards were credited to horror movies.

You take a deep breath in and out then begin to summon your supposed roommate.

Eddie felt bad.

He felt bad as he watched you clean up the mess he made in your kitchen. He knew you liked that mug, but he didn’t. He remembered when you were given that mug. He saw the way your face lit up after reading the stupid text on it that only you and the person who gifted it to you understood the meaning behind it.

He didn’t like Steve and he certainly didn’t like how Steve made you feel. Steve made you feel all sorts of things and Eddie knew that, which explained why Steve never experienced anything unusual in the house because Eddie didn’t like seeing you with him. He chose to not be present in Steve’s presence. Most of his kind would make it a point to make it known they hated them, but Eddie didn’t want to spook you.

He was aware of how silly it was. A ghost jealous of two living humans. He had his turn, but it was tragically cut short. He was so young, barely in his 20s before he left an ongoing cold case behind, providing no closure for his friends and his uncle.

But why did his afterlife have to consist of seeing the most angelic living human being just waiting to fall in love with the perfect living man? He didn’t get a chance to live out that part of his life, so was he bitter? Yes. He’d grown so attached it outraged him to see any distress that was brought upon the current tenant of his home.

Eddie wasn’t sure why he was able to roam around his old stomping ground over the last couple of years. He tried his best to communicate with his uncle before he finally managed to move into a better place. He was proud of Wayne for working hard to get a real house for himself. He took assurance that he was able to live more comfortably now. He should’ve known his own flesh and blood wasn’t bothered or spooked out by his attempts to get his attention, so when he left, Eddie was alone for nearly three years. No one was exactly in a rush to move into a trailer, his trailer, until you came into the picture. That day you walked in, if he wasn’t already dead, and you could’ve seen him, he just knew he would’ve been as pale as a well…ghost. He made sure to not send you running for the hills.

He tried to subtly help you with everyday things. He didn’t even spy on you during private moments like in the shower or on those lonely, needy nights. He proved himself to be a ghostly gentleman.

He even tried to not eavesdrop on your conversations and almost always disappeared when guests were present, but he heard you raise your voice earlier at Steve. He wasn’t sure what you two were arguing about and sure it was petty on his part, but before he could summon enough energy to knock over the mug, Steve was already gone.

Eddie followed you back into the living room, watched as you lit the candles scattered around and dimming the lights. He lightly smiled believing you were attempting to relax. You deserved a nice night in. If only seeing you in peace was enough to put him to rest - permanently. He was already trying to guess what kind of movie you were going to turn on but when he saw what was laid out in front of you as you sat back on your couch, his expression fell and he swore his heart would stop again if it could.

“Oh no,” he says as he stares at the Ouija board on the table. Eddie starts pacing in front of you, his hands bunching up his hair in a panic state. Anyone that had ever set foot in this trailer to scope it out knew this place gave off a spooky vibe. This was a tough trailer to sell because not only was it unsettling but so was the story behind it, which it was unbeknownst to you why it was so affordable. You weren’t stupid and you knew there was something or someone lurking, so this was almost bound to happen.

“Is anyone here?” He hears you ask the first question. He looks over your direction and sees your eyes are closed with both hands on the planchette. You’d close your eyes to mask your fear so that should anything bad happen you wouldn’t have had to stare death right in the face.

“Oh my God,” he barely whispers and realizes, “she’s really trying to talk to me.” He couldn’t believe you were willingly reaching out to him. He hadn’t been able to talk to anyone in years, so now given an opportunity to do so gave him a sense of elation.

“Yes! I am! I’m here!” She can’t hear you, idiot. “Fuck, of course she can’t hear me.” Eddie argues with himself on what to do before he remembers how Ouija boards work.

He almost can’t believe it when he does it, but he’s able to delicately and effortlessly move your hands to slide the planchette over the word ‘YES’.

Your eyes pop open and you gasp when you see that you received an answer. Now that was not your imagination. This wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you either. You’re frozen, but look up in front of you half expecting the spirit to show itself to you, however you don’t see anything.

At least that’s what you think. On the contrary, you’re staring right at Eddie or rather through him. His expression mirrors yours - complete and utter shock for two reasons.

First, he was never able to easily move or touch anything solid in years. The incident with the mug earlier, that kind of stuff usually required a lot of concentration and energy on his part. Secondly, he was in awe. He knew he was attracted to you, but even though you couldn’t see him, he could see you clearly and you were so beautiful to him.

He’s scared that he’s frightened you with that move, but at the same time it excites him that he’s successfully communicating with you.

You’re unsure if you should continue. You were half expecting this to be a bust, but it moved. It actually moved! While you were excited that this worked, the tiny voice in the back of your head had you thinking that maybe you shouldn’t go any further, but who ever really listened to them? If you were to get hurt or anything, you’d deal with Steve later. You blink a few times and refocus your attention on the task.

“What are you?” You ask next.

“What am I?” Eddie repeats the question, “I’m dead, sweetheart.” Wait. He starts to spell the letters ‘D-E-A-D’ with your hands on the planchette still. The corners of your mouth lifting, amused at that response, of course he was dead, had him comparing it to what angels must’ve felt like when they earned their wings. If anyone believed in that sort of stuff…either way he felt very blessed to pull such a thing as a small smile out of you.

“You liked that one, didn’t you?” Eddie said more to himself with a big smile on his face. He loved this! It was like he was having a real conversation with you. It was something he only ever dreamed of for the last six months.

A particular flash of lightning followed by a clamorous thunder startles you, breaking you away from the Ouija board. You weren’t going to lie. You were still absolutely spooked out and decided maybe that was enough contact with the dead for the night.

When your heartbeat finally returned to its steady rate, you got up to turn on the lights. You made sure you blew all the candles out and doors were locked before turning in. As you walked the path to his old bedroom, Eddie watched you look back to the living room and bid goodnight to seemingly nothing, but he knew who it was directed towards - it was meant for him.

The days that followed, you were growing more and more curious. In your spare time, you started digging into how much can come out of the Ouija board, but first you needed to figure out who you were dealing with.

You went from door to door of the trailer park doing your own investigation on who used to live in your trailer. You got mixed reviews from the neighbors, but you believed you got the gist of it down.

The trailer originally belonged to a man named Wayne Munson, who took in his nephew becoming his sole legal guardian. You dug deep at the local library, sifting through old Hawkins newspaper archives, to find out that his nephew had commonly gone by the nickname ‘Eddie’ and he wasn’t too far away in age from you. He went to the same high school as Steve, where he struggled in graduating, had a reputation of being a delinquent and someone who participated in satanic practices. The worst of his offense was being linked to the murder of a beloved teenage girl, Chrissy Cunningham.

The accompanying images of the girl and boy in the newspaper clippings, you assumed to be Chrissy and Eddie. She was undeniably pretty and he was…cute. The tips of your ears burned and turned red as you caught yourself staring a little too long at his picture.

Why’d that make you feel weird? You’re thinking things about someone you’d never met. You didn’t know anything else about him and what you had learned, it didn’t sound good either. That couldn’t have been the same Eddie in your trailer, right?

To your surprise, Chrissy had brutally died in your very own living room. Were you living with her? Something didn’t make sense though. What was her unfinished business? All the things you picked up on from the TV or movies, was that most spirits that wandered had some sort of “unfinished business” that prevented them from moving on. Right?

The news seemed adamant that it was Eddie who killed her, but it was her own boyfriend, some star athlete, Jason Carver, who had been found guilty of her murder. Eddie had been acquitted but the twists and turns never stopped as you read he himself had been found dead inside the trailer a few weeks later. The puzzling thing was the autopsy proved it wasn’t by suicide. He didn’t do this to himself. The saddest thing, aside from the loss of two young lives, was his uncle being the one to discover his nephew lifeless in their home. No one was ever charged for his murder and it didn’t look like there was a rush to locate the killer, which angered you as you continued reading. The real killer was possibly still out there free to live the rest of their life.

You’re so engrossed with your findings you barely paid any attention to Steve when he’d come in to check on you. He had the spare key in case of emergencies, and ignoring most of his unreturned phone calls, which seemed uncharacteristically you, to him was deemed as an emergency.

Steve was only less than thrilled to see your enthusiasm on all this. Normal people didn’t go around poking at the dead. He pointed out you were lucky you didn’t get possessed, not paying any mind or adhering to you claiming he was probably a friendly ghost.

“This isn’t an episode of Casper!” Steve shouts, fed up again. His face falters as he watches your shoulders visibly slump. He hated killing the vibe, especially when you were excited, but you were hyped about something all too unreal and that shouldn’t be messed with at all in the first place.

He looked around the small space seeing your notes scattered throughout the coffee table, some spilled on the carpet. There were so many he couldn’t see the Ouija board still laid out. It was just buried underneath.

“What if I can help him?” You try reasoning with him. “Did you know? Did you know Eddie? Or what happened to him? Did you know that he and someone else died right where we’re standing?” This was the first time you asked him about the person Eddie was, not the ghost. You wondered why he didn't say anything? He’d lived in Hawkins his whole life. Surely he’d had to have heard about this. It’s a small town, people talked.

“I barely knew him,” Steve sighs, guilty but admits, “he wasn’t exactly popular or well liked by most because of how different he was.” You watch as he brings a hand up to rub at his eyes, “but even I didn’t think he was capable of doing that stuff to Chrissy.” He was trying to erase the crime scene the media had released to the public from his mind. “I swear I didn’t know this was his trailer though. Like I said, I barely knew the guy.” You can hear the sincerity in his response and nodded. Had Steve known, he’d most likely had pushed harder for you to move in with him.

“What if I can help him pass on? Then I can live in peace…and so will he,” you start to persist.

“You’re not going to be able to convince Hawkins that Eddie Munson didn’t kill someone,” he says bluntly. “You’re already lucky that you’re unharmed,” Steve reminds you. “I’m just worried about you,” he brings his hands to your arms in an attempt to comfort you.

“I know you are, but I’ll be fine,” you assure him, hoping you could keep that promise. After all, you couldn’t even confirm you were really communicating with Eddie.

You were relieved that the conversation with Steve didn’t take a turn for the worse like it easily could have. You understood where he was coming from and you were lucky to have someone like him care so much about your wellbeing. The realization never fails to punch you in the gut for not allowing yourself to give in.

So why were you more scared to commit than of willingly reaching out to the dead?

Take two.

You sat perched, trying to hype yourself up to communicate once more. Eddie, on the other hand, is more than ready and the cool familiar breeze that passes you by lets you know that they’re here.

“Chrissy?” You ask, your fingers firmly on the planchette. You hadn’t figured out which one was actually still here or if both were.

Your hands move over to the answer, ‘NO’.

Shit. Eddie thought to himself when you said Chrissy's name. How much did you know about Chrissy? If you read anything about that night in the papers then it surely wasn’t good. What did you think of him now? You probably thought he was the devil. He thought you were going to end this, cut ties with him, cleanse the house or even move out after discovering it’s been him this whole time. The realization that you were living with a monster.

“Who are you?” The last revelation had to be obvious, but you needed confirmation. Eddie had nothing to lose, physically, but if this was the last time he’d get to communicate with you, he’d take every second until you stop. Your heartbeat starts to pick up as you’re slowly spelling out ‘E-D-D-I-E’.

“Eddie,” you whisper. Boy, did Eddie like the sound of his name coming from your lips.

“Is anyone else with you?” The answer points to ‘NO’. He was alone.

“How did you…die?” you had to swallow in between the last word in that question, hoping it wouldn’t trigger a negative response. Even in the afterlife, death couldn’t be an easy topic.

The letters ‘M-U-R-D-E-R-E-D’ give you your next answer. It was indeed him! Internally, you’re overjoyed that you’ve figured out your ghostly John Doe, but you try to remain at ease.

“Did you knock down my mug?”

Eddie rolls his eyes at that, but swiftly moves your hands over to ‘YES’.

“Okay. I mean that wasn’t very nice,” you couldn’t just bite your tongue as the sass flowed right out of you.

‘S-O-R-R-Y’.

The apology takes you by surprise, and suddenly you weren’t mad about the mug anymore.

“It’s alright. It was just a mug,” you try to assure him. You’d just have to explain to Steve another time that the ghost broke it. No biggie. Yeah, right. What with the tiny arguments, he’d most likely believe you destroyed it out of anger and frustration at him.

Your arms were getting tired from the position they were in. Several minutes had passed since you last said anything to Eddie and you weren’t sure of what to ask next, but you didn't want to stop talking to him.

Where does this end? Do you ask him to leave? This is his home. No, it’s not anymore. It’s your home now. How do you help him pass on? Did you have that ability? Do you hire a medium? Enlist the help of a priest? Call a ghostbuster? Your mind grew tired all too quickly, you slumped back in your seat, breaking away from the Ouija board.

Eddie watched as you rubbed the muscles of your sore arms. He felt helpless. He wishes he could ease or take away your worries and pain. Instead, all he could do was watch and make sure you were okay until you were ready to start talking again.

With your hands back on the board, you ask, “are you still here?” Eddie responds with ‘YES’. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself, before proceeding with the next question.

“Can you show yourself to me?” There is the ultimate question and Eddie can’t help but ask why? Why were you interested in seeing him? He was a lost cause.

“No?” you ask more to yourself, still staring at the word through the eye of the planchette, and frown, defeated at his response.

Eddie wanted nothing more than to show himself to you, but he didn’t know how. He was nothing but a gust of air. No matter how hard he tried to show himself to those nearby, he was never successful.

You pull your hands back away and place them in your lap, unsure of where to go from here. Well, you couldn’t force a ghost to do something they didn’t want to do, but you hoped that maybe seeing him would make it less taxing while communicating.

There’s a sudden iciness that covers the side of your cheek, sending a chill down your spine. You flinch and your hand rises quickly to warm the spot. What was that? You didn't feel that when using the Ouija board. Was that Eddie?

Eddie almost disappears at the sudden reaction. He can’t believe it. You felt that. You could feel him. All he did was caress your face and it was different than pushing your hands in different directions because this time, neither of you needed the help of the Ouija board.

You’re not sure where he is as your eyes scan the room, you wanted to feel that again. Sure, the cold was a bit alarming, and as sharp as his icy touch was, so was the surge that flowed through you. It was unexplainable, but soothing.

It sucked for Eddie because he couldn’t keep your eyes trained on just him.

“Are you sure you can’t show yourself?” You ask again to the open area, this time convinced you didn’t need the Ouija board anymore.

However, Eddie still needed the board to reply. You sigh in defeat as you watch the planchette slide across to the word ‘YES’ on its own. You couldn’t allow yourself to get mad. You just couldn’t understand how it was possible for him to do all these other things, but not be able to show himself. Whatever it was, you’d just have to accept that you’d never understand ghost logic.

The sound of the planchette scraping against the board, offers you the word, ‘F-E-E-L’.

Feel? You definitely felt a presence and a touch, but now it was confirmed. He was trying to communicate through touch.

“Yes, I felt you!” you let Eddie know quite eagerly. The planchette remains unmoved after that and instead of what would appear to be awkward silence, the seconds that were passing by could be more appropriately compared to that of a ticking time bomb.

“Touch me,” you requested.

Eddie is stunned. If he were alive and well right now, he’d no doubt be on his knees for you with a command like that. He floats over to you and is only more than eager to touch you again, but he’s not sure of where. Feeling the soft anticipation of a ghostly tingle, he hesitantly places both hands on the underside of your jaw, in a cradle-like fashion, hoping it’ll stop your wandering eyes.

You are still, frozen in place, now seeing the breath of air that escapes your mouth in a cloud of smoke, his comforting scent invading your senses. It was him. It had been him this whole time and he’s definitely here in front of you.

“More,” you say barely above a whisper, not paying mind to the coldness.

Fuck. Eddie inwardly swears at himself as you unintentionally egg him on. Testing his limits, what more could he already lose? He was already dead.

He goes all in. He leans in and presses his cold, dead lips to yours in the most gentle and light kiss ever. When he pulls away, he sees that your eyes have closed and he can’t help immediately start to wonder if you actually felt that or not. He sure as hell felt it. He can’t be certain as he tries to gauge the expression on your face. Shit, why did he do that?

“Do it again,” and this time with a more affirmative tone, Eddie doesn’t question anything anymore and obeys. His lips back on yours, but with added pressure, you let out a small moan and purse your lips to respond. You don’t think about how silly it must look to be making out with practically nothing, not knowing what to do with your hands because there was nothing to hold onto, but despite that it all felt too real. He was real.

Eddie’s mind is reeling at the sound of pleasure that spews from your mouth, he can’t comprehend how this is even possible. He’d been dying to know what kissing you felt like - what you felt like at all.

When your lips start to get numb and turn blue, disregarding the temperature, you reluctantly pull away. You open your eyes to a dark room and wish you could at least hear him, the sounds of ecstasy played a pivotal role in intimacy.

Your body temperature returns to normal, blood rushing, mind a haze. You stand up and head towards your bedroom without another word. Would he take the cue to follow you? You can’t be sure. You can’t see or hear him, but your actions say otherwise and make you both feel as if he wasn’t dead at all. It was now a game of cat and mouse.

Eddie or not, you were unabashedly turned on. In moments like these, it was hard to be in control of your own body and the only thing you could do was give in to the desires. In this instance, your body couldn’t make up its mind because as if you weren’t just freezing your ass off while kissing Eddie, you were suddenly hot all over.

Flustered, you pulled down your shorts on the way to your bed, tossed them carelessly across the room, perhaps a little too harshly. If he wasn’t going to help you out, then you would do the job yourself. A mad smile on your face, surprised you weren’t the least bit embarrassed if he was going to watch you or not. It only added to the thrill and the excitement.

Trying to regulate your breathing, you lie down on the center of your bed and run your hands over your face down to where you need them the most. Your fingers experimentally graze along the wet spot of your panties, groaning in acknowledgment of the sudden arousal. There’s no sense in conjuring up a justifiable explanation as to how something so seemingly innocent as the kiss you shared with Eddie got you so crazed. Not wasting any time, you lift your hips up and bend your legs to slip the flimsy garment off.

No longer a thin barrier between, your entire body shivers slightly, a sharp gasp escaping your lips, when your fingers make first contact with your clit. Using your slick, you begin to rub slow circles over it. Your stomach sinks in with each relieving exhale, your breathing growing heavy. Your fingers run off course and dip into your folds, past the floodgates, resurfacing now coated by your own wetness as you use it to an advantage in invigorating your bundle of nerves.

Eyes closed, you start to think about Eddie. How his skin would feel against yours. How you’d tangle your fingers in his wild hair. How his hands would feel on your sensitive parts. You want to feel guilty or believe this was all wrong. Instead of getting off to someone like Steve or someone real for that matter, you lied there baring yourself to a ghost. You try to picture that baby face of his, and all that you could based on the lone image you found of him to get you through the finish line.

The curve of his full lips that you were fortunate enough to feel on yours moments ago. You already knew they were soft, but what about his other features? Did his eyes sparkle or were they like black holes? They had to be of a set that could hypnotize someone. Maybe it was okay that you couldn’t see him because if you had you just knew that you’d be at his mercy.

And that was just on the surface of it all. How was he like in other areas? How would his tongue feel against yours, on your skin, in you…The simulation causes your thighs to clamp up, knees involuntarily knocking into each other; your other hand clutching onto the bed sheets. He made it that easy.

A thin layer of sweat coats your skin from the increase in body heat, then you hiss at the abrupt familiar cold sensation that runs through you, his alluring scent filling your nostrils, your legs forcefully separate; all tells you that Eddie was here. You pick your head up, always a small hint of disappointment flashes through your features at the fact you still and won’t be likely to ever see him.

It shoots a wild pang through Eddie's chest because he doesn’t miss it; never knowing he could read someone so openly. He missed a few significant things in his life already. He missed graduating high school. He missed a chance to get a better car. He missed a chance to sell out venues. He missed playing music. He missed his uncle. He missed his friends. He missed Hellfire. He missed out on someone like you. He missed a chance to develop a deep connection with someone. Life was so cruel.

Your thoughts aren’t as far away from his as you start to wonder, why was it all so easy - seamlessly flawless - with him? Running with only first-party information and two silent conversations, you were already willing to go headfirst for halos for Eddie. The feeling had you wishing he had lived to one day cross paths with you. Would he have still been in Hawkins when you moved here? Would you be neighbors, friends or more? Would it have been him and not Steve? All the could've and would’ve scenarios sprouting in your head. You got too attached learning about him. Was it pathetic? You didn’t care anymore, whatever would ultimately bring you to him, you just knew in the end you’d die happy.

Your head falls back in defeat and you try to keep your emotions at bay, until you feel the hem of your shirt being lifted, exposing your midriff. Your lips cave in and you wince at each uncalculated cold peck Eddie’s lips leave on you. Whereas you felt minor stings at how cold his touches were in the beginning, for the first time, Eddie felt like he was on fire at how hot to the touch you were in this moment. This moment with him.

His lips create a path down to your core, and the contrast in temperature felt good. Not knowing what to do with your hands again, your arms lie sprawled on the bed on either side of your body.

Cool air brushes past your folds and your heartbeat spikes up again. Eddie never imagined he’d ever be able to make someone feel this way. It was pointless for him, but he dreamt about it countless times. And then he wickedly thinks how he was dumb to not spy on you during those nightly sessions. He was missing out. You were absolutely divine in his eyes.

“Eddie,” his name slips past your lips breathlessly when he makes contact with your swollen clit. It started off so innocently, but when he pulled his mouth back to ran a long, flat strip over your folds, giving him a taste of what you had to offer, he wanted more.

The cold, with each bit of contact from Eddie, was no longer a thing as your body quickly acclimated to it. Eddie uses his fingers to spread your pussy lips apart and allows himself to get a better taste. Your head lulls back, sinking deeper into your pillows.

There’s only so much you could do to communicate with Eddie, you want to feel his hands all over, but instead you pick up on the slack, pulling your shirt over your head to grab and squeeze handfuls of your breasts, massaging them and adding onto the sensation. Your groping proves to be successful when you draw out more noises.

Eddie’s eyes never tear away from watching your reaction, the way your body moves, squirming from pleasure - pleasure he’s bestowing on you. His mouth doesn’t require guidance as his tongue pulls all the right moves, weaving its way through and between your folds. He drags out a long moan from you when he finally dips his tongue inside your wet hole and back out, before capturing your clit between his lips, sucking on it. The sweet suction sensation on your clit as his lips enclose around it.

“I-I need...fuck,” you try to voice out your desires, but you’re reveling in so much, especially in being able to feel Eddie’s fingers digging into the sides of your hips; you bite down hard on your bottom lip, you could taste a hint of copper already, trying your hardest to not let out a crazed scream.

Eddie doesn’t want you to hold back though, so he introduces his fingers into the mix as they and his tongue take turns in you. The addition of his thick fingers start taking you closer to your impending orgasm. You wished you could hear him and all the sounds of his onslaught. To hear those pretty boy moans, the filthy pops and slurping noises. Was he a dirty talker? God. Imagine the filthy things he would say or do.

He gets the message loud and clear. You want to come, and so he quickens his actions until your body goes into overdrive. He could feel your walls closing in tight around his digits, your wetness pooling around them and spilling, he almost loses control of your withering body. When you reach your peak, your mouth and eyes snap open, a choked gasp transitioning into a straggling loud moan, pupils blown, the sweat beads trickling down, and your back arching up in perfect bridge-like fashion. It almost looks like you’re being possessed when your orgasm rocks through you before you come back down releasing choppy breaths from its intensity.

Exhausted, you struggle to stay conscious wanting to communicate with Eddie one last time, but it felt like the orgasm almost sucked the life out of you. His fingers slowly slipping out and the puffs of cool air against your pussy are an indication that Eddie is still present and he wasn’t going to go anywhere just yet. He hasn’t moved from his position and is short of breath, in awe of seeing you coming undone for him and more so the fact that this happened. This wasn’t just another one of his dreams.

For as long as he’d been an apparition, he’d always hoped to be able to finally pass on and if this was his actual last day on Earth or wherever he was, then he’d gladly accept it because one night with you was enough.

Eddie would die happy.

A/N: Reblogs, comments & likes are appreciated. 🥹 Do we want a part 2? Let me know! Thank you for reading! 🫶🏻

#mrwinterr writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #ghost!eddie munson #ghost!eddie #stranger things fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington

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salteweew · 4 months

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Their perfume...

> Black Swon, Kafka

In fact, I associate Kafka only with cherries... but if I write that she smells like TF a lost cherry, then it will be too predictable and typical...so, here it is; I came up with something different for her. however, I think my options suit her too!

Black Swan;

She doesn't wear perfume - she doesn't need it. but her hair smells of lavender and lilac;

If she were to use it, Swan would use something sweet; sweet vanilla, spicy cinnamon, caramel, ice cream... Gourmandy.

It doesn’t fit in with her image a little, but she’s just crazy about gourmand, sweet, but at the same time sophisticated scents. They are light and unobtrusive, with virtually no sillage.

Kafka;

Kafka would have several perfumes. at least two (headcanon that she loves perfume as much as she loves coats!): casual; for any important events. both of these perfumes would be bright, loud, heavy; I assure you that as soon as Kafka enters the room, she is recognized by her perfume.

for important events:

fruity, spicy

The first note comes out blueberry. sweet, with slight sourness and bitterness, the berry is complemented by more bitter, but “warm” notes of coffee.

close to the body one can discern the cold, balsamic sterility of Frankincense.

You can feel the burnt sugar in the drydown. seductive, beautiful... totally Kafka-esque.

everyday;

fruity, citrus, sweet

viscous plum. sweet, astringent; it remains throughout the entire duration of the fragrance. green grapes play alongside her; bitter and sour.

There are notes of lime and salt in the base.

It sounds incredibly contradictory, but it merges into one composition. more sweet than bitter...but still, the salt stands out the most from the whole aroma.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr kafka #hsr headcanons #headcanon #hsr hcs #kafka honkai star rail #kafka hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #honkai star rail kafka #kafka x reader #black swan hsr #black swan honkai star rail #hsr black swan #black swan x reader

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shintaru · 3 months

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Signature scent | cologne WB characters wear pt.2

pt.1, pt.3, pt.4

m.list ♡ taglist Owen Knight ~

Fragrance Family: Earthy & Woody

Scent Type: Citrus & Woods

Key Notes: Patchouli, Cedarwood, Pimento, Sicilian Lemon, Blood Orange

Fragrance Description: Charismatic and authentic, this fragrance leaves a blazing trail of seduction enveloped by a blend of spicy Chili Pepper, French Lavender, and Haitian Vetiver. A glorious olfactive journey amongst the woody and aromatic notes of the Mediterranean.

About the Fragrance: A perfume which captures the essence of the contemporary man: a king of everyday life.

Chris D’Char ~

RabanneInvictus Parfum

Fragrance Family: Earthy & Woody

Scent Type: Citrus & Woods

Key Notes: Marine Accord, Lavender, Sandalwood

Fragrance Description: Rise to greatness and unleash the epic hero within, with new Invictus Parfum by Rabanne. Blended with exceptional ingredients, Invictus Parfum is a powerful, aromatic, woody, watery men’s cologne. Fresh lavender collides with sensual black soap and addictive sandalwood in an olfactive clash for gods.

About the Fragrance: Invictus Parfum by Rabanne is an aromatic, woody, watery olfactive clash crafted for the half-god hero who writes his own legend. Clean, addictive, and exhilarating, it’s blended with exceptional ingredients. Fresh lavender is made brighter by the minerality of the hazy marine accord. The leathery facets of the soap contrast with the voluptuousness of the violet leaf. Finally, addictive sandalwood blends with carnal musk.

Harry Sheppard ~

Yves Saint LaurentMYSLF Eau de ParfumFragrance Family: Earthy & Woody

Scent Type: Citrus & Woods

Key Notes: Fresh Accord, Orange Blossom Absolute, Woods Accord

Fragrance Description: MYSLF is a refillable fragrance with a long-lasting trail that blends sparkling bergamot and rich orange-blossom absolute with warm woods, including patchouli and musky Ambrofix™. This woody-floral men's fragrance fuses with your skin to reveal a distinct signature scent. About the Fragrance: MYSLF is the expression of the man you are, with all of your emotions and nuances. A twist on the traditional woody fragrance family with flowers. A statement of modern masculinity to celebrate your true self. Unapologetically. Proudly.

Hwangyeon Choi ~

TOM FORD Neroli Portofino Eau de Parfum Fragrance Fragrance Family: Fresh

Scent Type: Fresh Citrus & Fruits

Key Notes: Tunisian Neroli, Italian Bergamot, Sicilian Lemon

Fragrance Description: Neroli Portofino conjures cool breezes, sparkling water, and lush foliage through crisp citrus oils, floral notes, and amber undertones. Splashy yet substantive, this perfume is a vibrant reinvention of a classic eau de cologne. It‘s TOM FORD‘s homage to the Italian Riviera.

About the Fragrance: "Portofino has always been a magical place for me. There are few cities in the world that evoke such strong emotions and memories. The sounds, sights, and smells of the city are so poignant. I tried to capture this in Neroli Portofino."Tom Ford

Sangho Choi ~

TOM FORD Oud Wood Eau de Parfum Fragrance Fragrance Family: Earthy & Woody

Scent Type: Classic Woods

Key Notes: Rare Oud Wood, Sandalwood, Chinese Pepper

Fragrance Description: A composition of exotic, smoky woods including rare oud, sandalwood, rosewood, eastern spices, and sensual amberrevealing oud‘s rich and compelling power.

About the Fragrance: Smoky, incense-filled temples and a passion for rare, precious oud wood inspire TOM FORD‘s pioneering composition of exotic woods and spices.

"Oud Wood envelops you in rare oud, exotic spices, and cardamom then exposes its rich and dark blend of sensuality."Tom Ford

Hyuk Kwon ~

Azzaro The Most Wanted Parfum

Key Notes: Red Ginger, Incandescent Wood, Bourbon Vanilla

Fragrance Description: A spicy and woody cologne for men that blends warm toffee, sensual bourbon vanilla, vibrant red ginger, and incandescent woods for a magnetic and fiery fragrance. This cologne is dedicated to sustainable luxury and responsible development with bourbon vanilla sustainably sourced in Madagascar.

About the Fragrance: This ambery and spicy men’s cologne invites you to release your burning energy like never before. A fragrance for the empowered and charismatic man who is ready to play and reach new heights of life.

Dedicated to @cozyunderworld @rossesnd @catsrkool @inosukehana

#Spotify #hwangyeon choi #hwangyeon choi x reader #sangho choi x reader #sangho choi #hyuk kwon x reader #hyuk kwon #harry shepherd x reader #harry shepherd #chris d'char #chris D’Char x reader #owen knight #owen knight x reader

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najia-cooks · 10 months

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Cranberry chutney

Sweet, tart, jammy cranberries evolve into the subtle aromatics of cumin, mustard, and bay leaf before rounding off into a smooth, even chili heat in this Anglo-Indian-style chutney. It's excellent in place of cranberry sauce on all kinds of roasts, meat pies, flatbreads, sandwiches, and charcuterie boards.

The cooked fruit-and-vinegar chutneys made by English cooks during the British colonization of India were inspired by the fresh and pickled Indian condiments that English traders and soldiers—including those in the East India Company's military arm—had acquired a taste for, but substituted locally familiar produce and cooking methods for Indian ones. "Indian" recipes began appearing in English cookbooks in the mid-18th century, inspiring and fulfilling a desire for the exotic and, effectively, advertising colonial goods. The domestic kitchen thus became a productive site for the creation and negotiation of colonial ideology: the average English housekeeper could feel a sense of ownership over India and its cultural and material products, and a sense of connection to the colonial endeavor desite physical distance.

This sauce, centered around a tart fruit that is simmered with sugar and savory aromatics and spices, is similar in composition to an Anglo-Indian chutney, but some Indian pantry staples that British recipes tend to substitute or remove (such as jaggery, bay leaf, and mustard oil) have been imported back in. The result is a pungent, spicy, deeply sweet, slightly sour topping that's good at cutting through rich, fatty, or starchy foods.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Tip jar

Ingredients:

1/2 cup dried cranberries (krainaberee), or 1 cup fresh or frozen

5 curry leaves (kari patta), or 1 Indian bay leaf (tej patta)

1/2 tsp cumin seeds (jeera)

1/2 tsp black mustard seeds (rai)

3 Tbsp jaggery (gur / gud)

1-3 small red chili peppers (kali mirch), to taste

1/2” chunk (5g) ginger (adarakh), peeled

1 clove garlic (lahsun)

1/2 red onion (pyaaj) or 1 shallot

1 Tbsp mustard oil (sarson ke tel)

1/3 cup (80 mL) water

Pinch black salt (kala namak)

Curry leaves can be purchased fresh at a South Asian grocery store. If you can't find any, Indian bay leaves can be used as a substitute (the flavor isn't per se similar, but it would also be appropriate in this dish). Indian bay leaves are distinct from Turkish or California laurel bay leaves and have a different taste and fragrance. They will be labelled “tej patta” in an Asian or halaal grocery store, and have three vertical lines running along them from root to tip, rather than radiating out diagonally from a central vein.

Instructions:

1. Pound onion, garlic, ginger, and chili to a paste in a mortar and pestle; or, use a food processor.

2. In a thick-bottomed pot, heat mustard oil on medium. Add curry leaves or tej patta and fry until fragrant.

3. Add cumin and mustard seed and fry another 30 seconds to a minute, until fragrant and popping.

4. Lower heat to low. Add aromatic paste and fry, stirring constantly, for about 30 seconds, until fragrant.

5. Add cranberries, jaggery, black salt, and water. Raise heat and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook uncovered, stirring often, until thick and jammy. Remove from heat a bit before it reaches your desired consistency, since it will continue to thicken as it cools.

Store in a jar in the refrigerator for 2-3 weeks.

#Anglo Indian #fusion #Christmas #cranberries #dried cranberries #curry leaves #tej patta #mustard oil #jaggery #cooking #gluten free #condiments #Indian

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goddessofwisdom18 · 2 months

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Feyre sketch dump :)

Details/explanations!!

I think a really underrated aspect of Feyre's character is her scent. We all know Rhysand smells like citrus and the sea and the night court smells like jasmine, but Feyre is mentioned to smell like pear and lilac! I wanted to tribute that here, so the flowers on her outfit in the first piece are lilacs and the flowers in her earrings are pear blossoms. I also thought I'd imagine what her fragrance would be like if there was a celebrity-sponsored fragrance industry in Velaris like there is in the real world, and added in linseed since that's an oil that's often used in painting. (Does it actually smell nice or mix well with pear or lilac? .... We won't discuss that here.)

Anyway the other two pieces are Feyre in the cabin and Feyre in some nice tartan, in acknowledgment of her time in the Spring Court, which I would imagine is pretty Scottish given its high lord's name :')

I love this one <3 I imagine Feyre's current painting style to be like this; I think when she first starts painting she'd be more folk artsy (in the style of pieces like this), then tries out more semi-realistic styles in the Rainbow. I know a lot of people think that because of Feyre's lack of proper art education or practice she wouldn't be very good, but I *highly disagree*; there are plenty of folk artists out there, both now and throughout history who have never been educated, who are completely self taught, and who only paint when they could, in between work and survival, who are still good because they have natural talent. Just look at the difference between historical folk artists like Grandma Moses and the art of your average high school art student who may not have raw talent; while neither are properly educated, and this can be seen in their composition and coloring styles, those folk artists with raw talent still bring a specific eye to their work that your average person couldn't. Anyway rant over LOL JUSTICE FOR FEYRE'S SKILL LEVEL!!!! I BELIEVE IT'S HIGH!!

I also don't think there's even such a thing as good or bad art anyway but that's not relevant rn

Last thing; I imagine the human realms to be 1400s esque (I might not have gotten the right dress style for that in this drawing, but bear with me because I was too lazy to do intensive research lol) and based in historical fabric use, while the faerie realms take a lot of inspiration from future eras and haute couture, things that would seem very bizarre to your average 15th century human! So here's little kid Feyre, before everything really went to shit (not that she was very happy before that either lol)

#feyre archeron #acotar #sjm #pro feyre #night court #feysand #rhysand #nyx #morrigan #amren #cassian #azriel #my art #acotar fanart #acotar art

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fatehbaz · 10 months

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Hmm:

Regarding tenzu tablets:

Caption reads: "Ottoman drugs containing rhubarb, cinnamon, mastic gum, Chinese tumeric, amber, musk, balm of Gilead, Meccan myrrh, white pepper, opium, rose water, cast into moulds & inscribed with healing incantations, 16C". Credited with a link to Yasmine Seale, on social media.

Original linked source doesn't mention where these particular tablets/molds were created, kept, displayed, etc. But I wanted to learn more and found a kinda recent summary of tenzu which was published by Nil Sarı (head of History of Medicine and Ethics Department at Istanbul University's Cerrahpasha medical school, president of Health History and Museology Association), which was presented at a conference in 2016:

Nil Sarı. "The Special Pharmaceutical Tablet “Tenzu” in Ottoman Medicine.” 7th International Congress for History of Islamic Medicine, October 24-28, Fez, Morocco, 2016: 24-28.

An excerpt of the text:

In Ottoman Turkish tenzu (tensuh) means "very rare beautiful thing" or "a box containing a variety of fragrances." Tenzu was also said to be the name of a place in Hitay (Eastern Turkistan / Xinjiang) where a medicinal clay - the main ingredient of the tablet tenzu - was imported from. Tenzu was a kind of theriac said to be effective against various ailments. Different tenzu prescriptions are noted in the texts [...] of several medical manuscripts of the 17th and 18th centuries. These tenzu prescriptions were described by various physicians, e.g. the head physicians Salih bin Nasrullah and Nuh Efendi as well as Hayatizade Mustafa Feyzi and Shaban Shifai who were palace physicians of the period. The special pharmaceutical tablet/pastille named "tenzu kursu" was formed in various shapes, i.e. oval, round, or rectangular. A measured amount of the drug preparation was compressed and shaped in a special brass mold named "tenzu kalibi" in Turkish. [...]

Prayers and ornamentations are engraved on the metal molds [...]. The expressions Deva al kulub (Drug for the heart) and Shifa al marghoob (The desired, yearned healing) inscribed on molds reinforce spirituality. [...] Inscriptions around the center of the other flower shaped pattern are Ferd, Hayy, Kayyum and feehi shifaun lin-naas (wherein is healing for mankind, Surah an-Nahl, verse 69). [...] Al-Hayy and Al-Qayyum are often used together. Al-Hayy signifies "ever-lasting life", and Al-Qayyum "self-existing life". [...] Sihhat bad (Have a good health) and Afiyet bad (Have a good appetite) are inscribed. [...] A. Suheyl Unver and Hayri Sozen published several tenzu prescriptions in their book "Turk Farmakaloji Tarihi I.", in 1960. [...] Tenzu prescriptions are found in several medical manuscripts kept in the Topkapi Palace Library, Suleymaniye Library and Istanbul University Rare Books Library.

Clay is a main ingredient [...]. Tiyn-i Tenzu is an unknown red colored clay. However, Terra Sigillata (Tiyn-i mahtum / muhurlu toprak) and Armenian Clay (Kil ermeni) are found in the prescriptions. [...] There are also animal products in the compositions, i.e. ambergris (amber), bezoar (badzehr), kermes (kirmiz), musk (misk), raw silk (harir-i ham / ham ipek), [...] and burnt deer antler (yanmisgeyik boynuzu). There are a wide variety of herbal drugs in the compositions, i.e. Acorus calamus [...], Aloe vera (Sabir), [...] Anchusa offinalis (Lisan-i sevr cicegi), Artemisia absinthium [...], Bambusa arundinaceae [...], Chenopodium album [...], Cinnamon (Darcin), Citrus aurantium [...], Crocus sativus (Za'feran), Embellia ribes [...], Gummi mastix [...], Heliotropium arborsecens [...], Nardustachys jatamansi [...], Potentilla reptans [...], Pterocarpus santalinus [...], Red rose/Rosa gallica [...], Rheum officinale (Ravend), Rumez acetosellaseed [...], Ruta graveolens (Keci Sadefi/Sedef Otu), Terminalia citrina [...], Terminalia chebula [...], Tormentilla (Tormentila).

Shaping and storage of these drugs are explained alongside some of the tenzu prescriptions. According to a recipe, all ingredients are beaten very thin on a porphyry (onyx marble) [...]. Each dose wrapped in gold foil is anointed an amount of almond oil. It is pressed into the mold, dried in the shade and stored in wood boxes. [...] Drugs in tablet form was an old tradition. In general, the preparation is poured onto a tray. [...] After dried in the shade, orange leaves are put between them. Stored in colored glass containers, they're reused when needed, squashed with water and drunk as a syrup. Also, flat pills made of a drachma weight were retained on the tongue in the mouth [...]. Although drugs in tablet form were used throughout Ottoman history either as a pastille or to be converted into syrup, the tenzu tablet molds were designed for the Ottoman sultans and members of the dynasty to make special tablets decorated with calligraphy [...].

[End of excerpt.]

All of these images are cropped screenshots of the PDF scan of the printed "conference works"; the PDF was uploaded online by Nil Sarı.

#sorry some of the non english is messed up because i had to transcribe the text myself from the image scans #also like that the Special Sweets Kitchen of the palace produced medicine

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vladdyissues · 2 months

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What's your hc for Vlad and Danny' scents in ghost omegaverse AU?

I'm something of an aromaphile, anon, so this couldn't have been a better ask :)

Vlad 🌳🌹🥃

Diverging slightly from Vlad's fanon fire core theory, I don't imagine him smelling like a straight-up brush fire, but rather the things that burn easiest, namely wood.

Strong, warm, determined.

Vlad's scent profile is predominantly woody (cedar, leather, aged oak) and aromatic (grassy, herbaceous, slightly spicy, like rosemary), with medium floral notes of rose, vanilla and cinnamon, topped very lightly with something tart to "bite" through all those other powerful scents and stitch them together—I'm thinking black currant or cranberry.

These scents aren't "hot" on their own, but when combined produce a very heady, warm accord that can be enhanced or lightened depending on whatever mood Vlad is in. When he's aroused (meaning angry or alarmed, not just sexually excited), his scent can become acrid and smoky, a figurative "flame" igniting his natural base scents. When relaxed or in a state of bliss, those sugary vanilla and rose notes become very pronounced.

Danny 🌊🍃🍊

Like Vlad, I'm going less with a de facto "cold, icy" profile and paring it back to things that freeze well. Specifically, things with a high water content. Think fruit, water flowers and trees that grow in wet environments.

Sparkling, fresh, adaptable.

Danny's base scent is marine/oceanic (bamboo, jasmine, salt musk) with a medium range of citrus and wood (orange, lemongrass, rosewood), and a sweet, flowery finish of orange blossom and honeysuckle.

Did you know that cold weather makes for sweeter oranges? And oranges are, compared to other citrus, very sweet, but still citrusy enough to be refreshing. Their blossoms smell wonderful, too. Perfect for Danny, in my opinion.

When Danny is experiencing negative emotions, the medium range of his scent deepens, becoming sharp and heavy (think burnt wood and acidic lemons). When he's pleased, his floral scent blooms, carried by a strong wave of salt and grass.

For reference, here's a fragrance wheel:

And here's a fragrance dictionary that will explain some of these terms better, and other people can always use it to develop complex and detailed character scents outside of food items. (I mean. If my mate smells like raw, yeasty dough, I'm either sending him to the doctor or putting him back in the oven lol.)

In the omegaverse I like the idea that scents change with age and health, just like humans. But a scent is still recognizable as unique to that person, even though puberty and presentation and current emotional state may alter its chemical composition slightly. Five year-old Danny will smell different from 18 year-old Danny, but those base notes are still present.

#asks #pompous pep #omegaverse #vlad masters #danny fenton #scents #resources #headcanon

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nerdanel01 · 3 months

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Tipsy

Emmrich Volkarin/F!Rook (*Emmrich POV) 2k+ wc | SFW Emmrich and Agnes share a night at the opera. EXCEPRT: In the fifteen years that they had worked together, Emmrich had not once heard Agnes sing, nor hum, nor even tap her feet in time with a tune. Oh, she loved music—she subscribed to several periodicals that reviewed the latest compositions being performed across the continent, and was happy to debate the merits of various composers with anyone who would listen. But what enjoyment she took in music had always seemed clipped, contained within the bounds of her characteristic restraint. Now, the grass was tickling her bare feet; her heeled shoes were swinging precariously, playfully, from two hooked fingers of her left hand. The dark, velvet purr of her humming, endearing her to him as deeply as ever.

What privilege, Emmrich thought! To see this hidden side of her.

9:45 Dragon

It was high summer, but the sun had long set, taking the worst heat of the day with it; a breeze blew in off the Minanter River, conspiring to keep that evening in Nevarra City refreshingly cool. Cricketsong fiddled sweetly in the night. Beneath the larger-than-life statue of Caspar Pentaghast, in the public garden in which they walked, nocturnal flowers were in bloom: jasmine and nightlily perfuming the air with their nectarous fragrance.

To Emmrich’s mind, it was as beautiful an evening as one could hope for… made all the more beautiful by the grace and the sheer improbability of the sight before him: Agnes, barefoot on the grass him, humming to herself, her hips gently swaying in time with her song.

In the fifteen years that they had worked together, Emmrich had not once heard Agnes sing, nor hum, nor even tap her feet in time with a tune. Oh, she loved music—she subscribed to several periodicals that reviewed the latest compositions being performed across the continent, and was happy to debate the merits of various composers with anyone who would listen. But what enjoyment she took in music had always seemed clipped, contained within the bounds of her characteristic restraint. Now, the grass was tickling her bare feet; her heeled shoes were swinging precariously, playfully, from two hooked fingers of her left hand. The dark, velvet purr of her humming, endearing her to him as deeply as ever.

What privilege, Emmrich thought! To see this hidden side of her. To bear witness to what he had privately come to think of as the real Agnes, unchained from the rules of decorum and the scars of her past. Though Agnes had never told him as much, he had come to think of her mother’s death as a terrible fault line running through her childhood, the essential moment that divided the rest of her life into a before and an after. Before, when she had been cherished and loved, free to run and play and be curious, as she always ought to have been—and after, as an unwanted bastard in the house of a nobleman, once the hideous truth of her conception had come to light. Emmrich could well imagine the impossible standards she had been held to: that she would have had to work twice as hard, be twice as clever, keep herself twice as neat and clean and courteous as her legitimately-born siblings in order to avoid her father’s reprimand. How that experience had choked her, changed her.

Which made this rare glimpse of pure, uninhibited joy in her so very, very precious.

Though they had both drank copious amounts of fine champagne throughout the evening, that alone could not be the reason for this change in her demeanor. From the handful of occasions on which they had drank together before, Emmrich knew that Agnes was not susceptible to the wild swings in personality that could be observed in some drunks; if anything, she only became tired and more withdrawn than usual. It was the music itself, Emmrich suspected, that had worked this change in her: the two hours they had spent at the opera, the score of which Agnes was even now humming under her breath.

It was hard not to feel too pleased and too proud with himself for having the idea to begin with; Emmrich knew he had no right to be. After all, it had taken him nearly five years to give her a gift half as worthy as the one she had given him—the scarab ring was so elegant, full of such detail and history and light that he wore it always. But Agnes was unlike him in that respect. She did not take great pleasure in things, the way he did—in fine jewelry or fabrics, or elegantly crafted tea sets—which had made the act of finding her a reciprocal gift uniquely challenging. Emmrich wanted it to be thoughtful. He wanted it to be something she would truly love.

And so, at last—when he had seen the poster outside the theatre promoting their summer programming, seen the Antivan Opera listed as one of the companies that would be performing, recognized the name of one of the very composers Agnes had been praising for as long as he could remember—it was like the clouds had parted, like a single beam of epiphanal light had descended just for him.

Better to succeed late, Emmrich thought, than to never succeed at all.

And it would have been worth it alone for the look of surprise and unbridled delight on her face when she had opened the envelope and recognized the tickets for what they were, but that had been just the beginning of all the tiny pleasures: the way she adorned herself for the occasion (unexpected mother-of-pearl ornament in her hair, the tint of color she had applied to her lips); the tension of anticipation her near-giddy excitement throughout the pre-performance dinner they had shared; the rapt, open-mouthed expression that had been fixed on her face throughout the opera, as she leaned over the edge of their box and peered through her opera glasses to get the best view of the stage. So alive! So focused, so present, all her stoicism and reserve fallen away.

Too proud of himself. Too pleased with himself. Emmrich had found it his eyes wandering away from the performance on the stage to watch her, instead; to bask a little in her joy, knowing it was his own doing.

How good it felt, to care for someone else, to make them happy! To make Agnes, specifically, happier than he had ever seen her.

And then, the shock of the opera itself! Knowing Agnes as he did—knowing her seriousness, her scholarly inclinations—he had expected it to be dark and tragic; to feature a plot that would, more likely than not, end in death. But in defiance of all of his expectations, the piece had been confection-sweet: a comedy, a romance full of bouncing, catchy tunes, everyone alive and in love at the conclusion of it.

And now Agnes was humming the duet from the first act:

Though now the proud and cruel one Exults in the chains that bind me, Tomorrow over her heart I will reign, Tomorrow she is mine!

The grass tickling her bare, white feet; the grass on which she walked, in blatant defiance of the “KEEP OFF THE LAWN” signs peppered across the garden. Her hips swaying in what was, almost, a dance.

But the three-quarter time of the duet she was humming along to was nearly a waltz—so that ‘almost’ was remarkably easy to fix.

Taking care to quiet his footfalls, to surprise her, Emmrich stepped onto the lawn behind her, closing the distance between them when at last he grasped her hand. Before she had time to react he lifted their joined hands above their heads, guiding Agnes’ wrist until—with a delighted laugh—she gave a graceful little spin and turned to face him. Her dark eyes shining brighter than the stars above, for all the merriment within them.

Still holding his hand, grinning playfully, she bent her knees and bowed her head in mannered, practiced curtsy. Emmrich matched her smile and bowed his head in kind, before wrapping his free arm around her waist—and then, they were off, Agnes keeping time with her humming, Emmrich wheeling them around in the grass to match the pace she set: one, two, three; one, two, three; taking extra precautions to make sure he did not trample her bare toes beneath his dress shoes.

…Strange, wasn’t it? He had done all of this for her, for Agnes. And yet somehow through his vicarious experience of her joy, through the dizzy, fizzy freedom of the champagne swimming in his blood, he found himself feeling so present, so whole, so much fuller than he had in a very long time.

The melody of the song shifted—driving, mounting, a crescendo towards its conclusion. Emmrich lifted their hands once more, spun Agnes once, twice, three times in a row, her skirt rising with her momentum to twirl like a black wave around her knees as she laughed again in delight. Then Emmrich drew her back to him, and—hands tight about her waist to secure her (they were both, after all, a little tipsy)—dipped her body low over his bent knee.

Cricketsong and river-breeze. Time had not stopped, but it felt like it had: like Emmrich’s heart had stopped beating, like he could not draw a breath. In a flash their dance had transformed from a fancy into… he did not know what. All he knew was that he could not pull his eyes away from the silver moonlight caught in her hair, the nervous smile on her face… the cold, then warm, then cold again shock of the world-tilting look of breathless anticipation, of hope in her eyes.

The intrusive, wholly inappropriate urge to draw her warm, slender body against his and kiss her deeply.

The thought was like burning a hand on a scalding kettle; all he could do was flinch from it. In the next moment he had set Agnes back on her feet and released her waist, restoring an arm’s length of distance between them, clearing his throat loudly as he did so.

Cricketsong, and awkward silence.

Agnes broke it first. “I’d like to…” she gestured vaguely with the shoes in her left hand. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Emmrich answered, nearly tripping over himself to offer her his forearm. She grasped it with her free hand to steady herself then bent, balancing on one foot as she slipped her feet into one heeled shoe, then the other. For the life of him, Emmrich could not understand why it felt like something was shattering within him at the sight of it.

Agnes straightened with a sigh, a perfunctory smile on her face. “That’s better. Shall we?” she continued, gesturing in the direction of the Necropolis. “It is getting rather late.”

“Of course,” Emmrich said, still too stunned and dumbstruck to do anything other than acquiesce.

But whatever the moment was, whatever it might have been, it had clearly passed. Agnes’ shoes clacked on the paved walkway beside him, her humming silenced. All that joy, all that uninhibited delight had been packed away again behind her walls, restrained. Emmrich already missed it.

“There was another poster, in the theatre,” he said, to fill the silence as much as anything. “The Orlesian Opera will be touring here in the fall. Perhaps, if they are performing a piece that you would like to see, we could go again.”

Agnes flashed a brief look at him, smiled and nodded. “I’d like that,” she said, smoothing her hands through her hair, straightening the mother-of-pearl brooch back into place. “Though next time I really need to drink less. I’m afraid the champagne has made me a bit silly.”

There was a terrible note of embarrassment in her voice. Emmrich could not fight around the storm of emotions rolling through him to reassure her, ‘I like you very much when you are silly.’

They made small talk the rest of the way back to the Necropolis, but Emmrich barely heard a word Agnes said, so utterly possessed he was by that brief moment that had passed between them. It had taken all of two seconds to transform all the pride and cleverness he had felt for arranging the evening into the most abject shame. Had he really come that close to kissing her?

It was normal, Emmrich reassured himself, to have urges. Intrusive thoughts, even, were nothing to be ashamed of. That wasn’t him: he was defined not by his impulses but by his actions. He told himself: he was dignified, respectable, kind. Not nearly stupid enough to make that kind of mistake—and it would, unquestionably, be a mistake.

‘I have no family,’ she had told him, when she had gifted him the ring which now wore daily. ‘Who else in my life would I give such a gift to, if not you?’ What a hideous betrayal of that sentiment it would have been, to start lusting after her now like some lecherous old man. Agnes was his valued partner, his dearest friend, and at least a decade his junior. It shook him to his very core to realize how close he had come to putting that cherished partnership at risk with unwelcome advances.

After all, Emmrich already knew what it would be like to lose her; he had lived it. Sometimes he still dreamt of it: the unsteady weakness, the shaking in his legs as he had run, then tripped and fell, then crawled to her side after finally destroying the pride demon; the cold panic that had come over him when he realized she was not breathing. Shouting her name loud enough to make him hoarse as his magic clawed viciously at the Veil, drawing on the very force of his life to fuel his necromancy, reaching seeking questing for her soul, begging her to come back to him.

He was resolved never to experience anything of the kind ever again—no matter what other sacrifices he must make to ensure it was so.

#Emmrich Volkarin #Emmrich Volkahrin #dragon age emmrich #Emmrich the Necromancer #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age fanfic #fanfiction

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